


Missing Persons Case

by Anna_Blossom



Series: We're All Civilians Now [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detective!Pharah, F/F, Friendship, Pharah is secretly a bit insecure, Pining, rating because of some swears, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Man, who the fuck are you?!” Too-many-piercings demanded, voice nasal and face screwing into a sneer.</p>
<p>“Detective Fareeha Amari,” she said, making sure to keep her voice curt and severe. Her hand reached for the inside pocket of her jacket and she flashed her badge at the two teenagers, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.</p>
<p>“Still a detective? Thought you were in line for a promotion for Sergeant,” McCree said casually, subtly peering at the teenagers, his grin growing wider at their reactions, and Fareeha could tell just how much he was enjoying this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Persons Case

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, an excuse to introduce other characters into this modern AU. Enjoy.

Fareeha Amari parked her car just outside ‘Dead Eye Gun Shop and Indoor Shooting Range’, one of the lesser known establishments in the city. She closed her car door, double-checking that she locked it properly before walking towards the double doors of the building.

A small chime sounded overhead as she entered, and her eyes immediately took in her surroundings. The store was mostly empty, save for a couple of teenagers talking to Jesse McCree, the owner of Dead Eye. McCree glanced at her, then held up a hand, silently telling her to ‘wait’. She nodded, entertaining herself by looking around the shop, inspecting the rifles on display on the wall behind her. She glanced at the broken clock just above Jesse’s head and smiled. It was always high noon here at McCree’s place.

“C’mon, man! Just this pistol right here!” One of the teenagers said in a whiny voice and Fareeha immediately pegged him as a wannabe gangster type, with his bleached hair and too lanky figure. His friend was no different, except he was on the chubbier side and had way too many piercings on one ear.

“Sorry, kids,” McCree drawled, leaning on the counter with one arm. “No permit, no gun.”

Bleached-hair scowled. “Look, man. You either give me the gun, or I take it from you,” he growled out, or at least tried to. Fareeha was certain she’d heard puppies sound much more threatening. McCree seemed to be thinking the same thing, visibly trying to hold in his laughter.

“Now, hold on there, tough guy,” McCree grinned, unperturbed by their supposed show of intimidation. “No need for violence ‘round these parts. But I’m afraid I really can’t sell you this gun, or any gun in fact, if you don’t got a permit. Is the law, you see.”

“Man, fuck you—”

“ _But,_ ” McCree cut in, tilting his head in a way that the brim of his hat covered his eyes, “if you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with my friend here.” He nodded towards Fareeha, who was standing just a few meters behind them with her arms crossed.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, approaching the trio.

“Man, who the fuck are you?!” Too-many-piercings demanded, voice nasal and face screwing into a sneer.

“Detective Fareeha Amari,” she said, making sure to keep her voice curt and severe. Her hand reached for the inside pocket of her jacket and she flashed her badge at the two teenagers, whose eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Still a detective? Thought you were in line for a promotion for Sergeant,” McCree said casually, subtly peering at the teenagers, his grin growing wider at their reactions, and Fareeha could tell just how much he was enjoying this. “After all, you single-handedly busted that one gang. You know, the one that was into drug traffickin’ and all. Anubis, was it?”

“A-Anubis? He can’t be talking about _that_ Anubis, right?” Bleached-hair whispered to his friend, who visibly paled.

“I would not say single-handedly,” she replied, her humility sincere. “But yes, I was the one who lead that investigation. Anyway, I was hoping I could ask you some questions regarding another case.”

“Sure thing, darlin’. But gotta help my customers first,” he gestured towards the two teenagers, flashing them a friendly smile. “What was it you fellas wanted?”

“N-nothing,” Too-many-piercings said, dragging his friend by the arm. “We’ll just go now!”

“Already? But I thought you fellas wanted a gun,” McCree said, pretending to be confused.

“It’s fine! No gun, no permit, right? W-we’ll just leave!” And with that, the two teenagers hurriedly exited out the store. McCree and Fareeha gave each other a look, before they both laughed.

“Did you see that? Those darn kids practically ran away with their tails between their legs!” McCree let out another loud laugh. “Ah, kids these days.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Morrison.”

McCree snorted, shaking his head. “So,” he faced her, expression curious, “what’s a lovely lady like you doin’ here?”

“A case. I wasn’t joking about that,” she said, handing him a photograph of a teenage boy. “This is Fred Coleman, a student at Petras University. Three days ago, his mother reported him missing.” Fareeha handed him another photograph, but this one was grainy, as if taken from a street camera, the ones that took pictures of speeding cars. “And this is where he was last seen,” she added. “I was hoping you could identify this woman for me.”

“Don’t you police have that fancy tech where you just run the photo through a computer and get instant results?”

“The photo’s too blurry for our computers to face scan, but I’m sure you could still recognize her.”

“Darlin’, its still real flatterin’ that you think I know everyone in this city.”

“You don’t?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Didn’t say I didn’t,” he chuckled, taking a closer look at the picture. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s Amélie Lacroix. She’s Gabi’s new flatmate. Met her just a few weeks ago.” McCree handed back the two photos.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Unless there’s some other gal out there with blue skin and black hair,” he said, and Fareeha blinked at his mention of blue skin. “Don’t think she had anything to do with the boy getting’ missin’ though.”

“Well, she’s the last person to see him,” Fareeha pocketed the photos. “Let’s hope she at least remembers something. Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” McCree tipped his hat at her, before holding out his hand expectantly. “So?”

Fareeha smirked, reaching into her pockets to pull out a two pieces of paper and handing it to him. McCree looked it over, grinning. They were coupons for a free pizza at Cavalry’s.

“Still have no idea how you manage to get a hold of these.”

“I have my methods,” she replied mysteriously. “So, Reyes’s apartment?”

“Yup,” the cowboy affirmed, popping his lips at the end of the word as he pocketed the coupons. “Gotta warn you though, girl’s a regular ice queen. Might take some time ‘fore she warms up to you.”

“Don’t worry,” Fareeha said. “I think I can handle her.”

* * *

 

“I do not know this boy,” was the blunt answer that Fareeha received from the woman McCree identified. She truly was surprised at first to find that the picture she’d gotten matched the woman quite accurately—that the picture didn’t show blue skin because of the lighting, the time of the day or printing problems.

“I understand it can be hard to recall someone from the street three days ago, but can you please try again?” Fareeha implored politely, silently telling herself that McCree was definitely not kidding about her being an ice queen. “Maybe you saw him enter an establishment or hail a cab, Miss… La-kwa… Lacroy—Can I just call you Amélie?”

The blue woman raised a delicate brow. Fareeha felt like she was looking at a hint of amusement behind those eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. It was best not to be too subjective too anyway.

“If it gets you to stop butchering my name, do so,” was her, Amélie’s answer.

“Alright,” Fareeha said with a nod, feeling slightly offended. “Miss Amélie, as I was saying, maybe you saw him enter a convenience store or something like that.”

Amélie hummed thoughtfully, raising the cup of tea she was sipping from to her lips slowly. Fareeha waited patiently, ignoring the fact that she had no glass or cup to busy herself with. She could understand that it didn’t come natural to some people to offer drinks to uninvited guests and she didn’t mind at all even if they didn’t.

“I don’t remember seeing ‘im enter any sort of establishment,” Amélie recalled after putting the cup down on the table. “But I do remember seeing a, how do they call it, a biker gang follow into the direction he was heading.”

Fareeha’s eyebrows furrowed. She quickly noted it down. “A biker gang. Do you remember what they were wearing or what they looked like?”

“Not at all. I don’t bother to look at those who catcall and whistle at my direction,” Amélie stated regally, chin rising in the air. Fareeha slumped a little until her interviewee continued speaking. “They rode in tandems. Two men on some bikes, save for three others at the front of the group who had Harleys to themselves.”

Taking notes again, Fareeha nodded. This was helpful, very helpful. There weren’t a lot of biker gangs that shared motorbikes. There were other variables too, but she could think about that later. “Was there anything else you noticed? Like an insignia perhaps?”

There was a thoughtful pause before Amélie spoke again. “I can’t be certain, but I remember most of them were wearing some sort of red and white scarf. I’m afraid that is all I can recall.”

Fareeha jotted it down, extremely pleased. “This is more than enough. Thank you very much, Amélie. This will be a great help to our investigation,” she said, getting up and extending her hand towards the other woman with a courteous smile. Amélie gave it a brief glance, before taking it, and Fareeha was surprised at how firm her grip was. “You have a very sharp eye.”

Amélie’s lip curled. “So I’ve been told,” she said, sounding just the slightest bit haughty, before letting go of Fareeha’s hand.

“Anyway, I’ll take my leave now.” Fareeha said, tucking her notepad and pen into her coat pocket. Amélie stood up, walking her to the door. Stopping suddenly, Fareeha turned around. “If you ever remember anything else, please contact this number,” she said, handing Amélie her card.

“Very well. It’s been pleasant meeting you, _inspecteur_ , but I’m expecting guests in a few minutes,” Amélie said, ushering her out of the door with a cold smile. “ _Adieu_ ,” was all she said before she closed the door in Fareeha’s face. The detective blinked, before her face scrunched into a small frown. She shook her head, walking away from the apartment and towards the lift.

“A biker gang with red and white scarves,” she muttered to herself, nodding to a pizza delivery girl who exited the elevator as soon as the doors opened. The brunette gave her a smile and a wave, before going her merry way. Fareeha entered the elevator, already planning her next move.

* * *

 

“Pharah!” was the enthusiastic shout that greeted her as she entered the best auto repair shop in the city, ‘Ironclad Guild’. She smiled warmly as a short, stocky man covered in grease approached her. Torbjörn Lindholm was the city’s finest mechanic, able to fix almost anything as long as it’s a machine. “I’d give you a hug, but…” he trailed off, vaguely gesturing towards himself.

“It’s fine, uncle,” Fareeha said pleasantly. “And please, stop calling me Pharah. I’m not a child anymore.”

“Bah! You’ll always be Pharah to me, girl,” Torbjörn chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. “You’ll always be the little girl who couldn’t be bothered to pronounce her first name right. To think that you were shorter than me back then. But,” he tossed the rag into a metal table. “I assume you didn’t come here just to catch up with this old man.”

Fareeha nodded. “Yes, I’m here to ask you a few questions about a missing persons case.”

“A missing persons case, you say? Thought you were given a promotion,” Torbjörn raised a bushy brow.

“No,” she shook her head. “However, the chief told me that there’s a possibility for it to happen in the near future.”

Torbjörn grinned at that. “I’m glad things are looking up for you then! So, what can I do to help you?”

Fareeha took out the photograph of the victim again, handing it to the shorter man. “Fred Coleman, student at Petras University, was reported missing three days ago. The woman who last saw him claims that there was a biker gang heading in the same direction as he had been the same night he went missing.”

“A bit farfetched to assume they had something to do with it.”

Fareeha sighed. “I know but it’s the only lead I have so far. And I’ve checked the police database, but there’s nothing about the gang the woman encountered. It’s either the gang hasn’t done anything criminal or hasn’t been caught yet.”

Torbjörn nodded. “Well, then, tell me more about this biker gang,” he said.

She took out her notepad. “The woman said that there were three Harleys and some other motorcycles. Except for the Harleys, there were two people on each bike,” she said, and a thoughtful hum came from Torbjörn, before he shrugged.

“Can’t say I recognize them. I’ve got lots of customers with bikes coming and going and whatnot. You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

Fareeha’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m afraid that’s all the information I have except— oh, yes.” She flipped her notepad to the next page, eyes skimming the content. “Most of the riders were wearing scarves. Red and white.”

“Hmm…” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “Red and white— Aha!” Torbjörn exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I’ve got a customer. Owns a Softail Slim, custom paint job. Always wears this red and white scarf around his neck. Nice man, but some toothpaste would make a great improvement, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you have a name?” Fareeha asked, pen at the ready.

“Rick Fletcher. And he’s a drunkard. Should be hanging around the Barrier most nights, if he’s not out riding.” ‘Zur Barriere’, or the ‘Barrier’, was a popular pub located near the heart of the city, and was almost always crowded during the nights. Fareeha herself often visited it whenever she can during her downtime, as it was one of the few places where she could relax and have fun.

She quickly noted the name, before throwing Torbjörn a grateful smile. “Thank you, uncle.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, clapping her shoulder. “You still haven’t found your boy yet. Wait, what is—” he narrowed his eyes, looking behind her. “Brigitte! Where do you think you’re going?” he bellowed, pushing past Fareeha and towards a young lady in a ponytail in the middle of leaving through the backdoor. “You don’t get to leave ‘til you clean up.”

“Ugh, c’mon,” she moaned, sighing as she let go of the doorknob. Torbjörn stared at her pointedly, and she put down her bag and walked towards a table cluttered with tools and parts and flecked with grease. The old mechanic kept his gaze on her for a few more minutes, before turning to face Fareeha.

“Sorry about that. Girl tends to sneak out during the last five minutes of her shift. Say hello to Reinhardt for me, will you?” Torbjörn said, before glancing at Brigitte. “And tell him that he needs to talk to his niece about the importance of a clean workspace!” he added in a louder voice, and Fareeha laughed as the brunette rolled her eyes.

* * *

 

“Bwahahaha! He said that about Brigitte, now did he?” Reinhardt’s mouth stretched into a grin from underneath his white beard as he placed a glass of beer in front of Fareeha. He was a huge man, standing at over two meters tall, all muscle and power despite his age.

“Such a shame Torbjörn couldn’t come here und tell me that personally. You know,” the mountain of a man leaned over to her conspiratorially, his good eye glinting with humor. “He tells me he only accepted Brigitte as an apprentice because he owed me a favor, but we both know that’s not true. If she didn’t have any talent, he would’ve just told me that Ironclad Guild was no place for a teenager. Why, when I first introduced her to him, he…”

Fareeha smiled and took a sip from her beer as Reinhardt chattered, hands waving around animatedly all the while. She let her eyes wander, taking in the faces around the bar, only half listening. It was a full house despite it being barely seven o’clock, and judging from the laughter coming from the upper floor, it was probably busy up there too. Most likely a game night.

Zur Barrier was medieval themed, looking more like an old school tavern than a bar, but there were some modern touches here and there. A few posters were on the wall, a stereo playing Hasselhoff behind the bar, and a pool table at the far side of the bar where a group was playing. Fareeha paused, a brawny woman with shock pink hair among the group catching her eye. Fareeha frowned, trying to figure out why the woman seemed strangely familiar, like she’d seen her somewhere else, before realizing that Reinhardt had finished talking.

“So,” he said, either not noticing or not caring that she was only half listening to his tale, “what’s this I’ve been hearing about a promotion? Finally going to become Chief of Police like your mother once was, eh?”

Fareeha laughed. “You overestimate me, uncle,” she replied, taking another sip from her glass.

“Bah! No need for humility around me, _kleiner_ _Vogel_ ,” he waved a dismissive hand. “In fact, you _should_ be Chief of Police by now! You’ve done good work these past few months.”

She shook her head chuckling, yet she couldn’t help but feel satisfaction at Reinhardt’s praise. “Ah, speaking of work,” Fareeha put down her glass. “I actually came here to find Rick Fletcher.”

“Und here I thought you were here to visit me,” Reinhardt gave her a teasing grin, before it gave way to form a small frown. “But, Rick? Did he get into any trouble? Doesn’t seem like the type.”

“No, or at least, I don’t think so. But he’s my only lead so far.”

Reinhardt nodded understandingly. “Very well. I didn’t see him come in, but his friends are upstairs. I will come with you!”

“There is no need, uncle—“

“Nonsense! Liao, take over for a little while!” he called out, and the redhead who was behind the bar with him gave him a thumbs up. “Come!” he waved, making his way up the staircase beside the bar. “It’s poker night, so don’t be surprised if it’s a little rowdy.”

Fareeha nodded and followed him, silently hoping that this lead wasn’t a dead end.

A short talk with Rick’s friends confirmed that they were driving down that road the same night Fred Coleman went missing, but they were vague about whether or not they saw the kid. They also revealed that Rick had a small accident last night. Nothing major, just a broken leg, but the doctor had insisted that he stay there overnight. Fareeha consulted her watch, and decided to go give him a quick visit. A few minutes later, she found herself exiting Zur Barrier, giving Reinhardt one last hug.

“Good luck on your search, _kleine_ _Vogel_ ,” he said as she broke away from the hug, then a sly grin took over his face. “Und say hello to Angela for me, will you?”

“Uncle,” Fareeha narrowed his eyes at him, causing the larger man to laugh and hold up his hands.

“Alright, alright. No more teasing Pharah about her little schoolgirl crush on Angela,” he said, another laugh leaving his mouth upon looking at Fareeha’s exasperated face. “You know, I’d be more than happy to put in a good word for you. Not that you’d need it—”

“Good night, uncle,” she cut in, turning around and heading for her car, leaving Reinhardt chuckling behind her.

* * *

 

“Excuse me.”

The mousy receptionist looked up from her computer. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for Rick Fletcher’s room?”

“Of course. Are you a family member or a friend?”

“Ah, no,” she pulled out her badge. “Detective Amari. I just need to ask him a few questions. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Alright. One second please.”

Fareeha nodded, opting to look around in the meantime. The waiting room was bland. White walls, a row of red chairs pushed against the wall, and a potted plant which she suspected to be fake. How Angela could stand working in a place like this was beyond her. But then again, Angela wasn’t a receptionist. She was the head of surgery. The detective smiled to herself at the thought of the blonde doctor.

“Alright, here we go,” came from the receptionist, breaking Fareeha’s train of thought. “Room 312, third floor. But visiting hours are until 8 pm only.” Fareeha gave her a small nod, thanking her before going her way. She turned the corner, suddenly bumping into someone.

“Goodness! _Es tut mir Leid_ , I was—” A pair of blue eyes blinked at her, and Fareeha blinked back. “Fareeha! It’s good to see you!” Angela smiled warmly, pulling her into a friendly hug. “It’s been too long.”

Fareeha managed a smile back, hesitantly pulling away from the embrace. “Angela. It’s good to see you too. You look,” Fareeha gave the doctor a once over, taking in the bags beneath her tired eyes and her slightly slumped posture. “You look… fine.”

Angela laughed weakly at that. “It’s been a long day,” she explained, looking slightly self-conscious. “I’ve just performed a really complicated five hour surgery, but never mind that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “What are you doing here? Another case?”

Fareeha nodded. “Nothing serious though. Well, hopefully anyway. I’m just here to ask a possible witness a few questions.”

“Shall I accompany you, then?” Angela asked, her head tilting slightly to the side. Fareeha found it absolutely endearing.

She shook her head. “There’s really no need for that.”

“Oh, I insist.” Angela’s lips twitched into another smile. “Besides, we’ve a lot of catching up to do. Come on,” she nodded her head towards the hospital elevator, before she started walking. Fareeha sighed quietly as she followed after her, more than used to Angela’s doggedness. For someone who was so gentle, Angela could be annoyingly stubborn when it suited her.

“What room is your witness in?” Angela asked as the elevator doors closed shut.

“312.”

“Third floor, then,” Angela said, pressing the button. Soft elevator music played in the background, and she quietly hummed along. Fareeha glanced at her, taking in the way Angela’s lips seemed to permanently curve into a gentle smile. Blue eyes met hers, and Fareeha immediately looked away, trying to appear casual. Inside, she was groaning. Reinhardt was right. She _was_ acting like a schoolgirl with a stupid crush. Speaking of which…

“Uncle Reinhardt says hello by the way,” Fareeha said, and Angela giggled softly. “What’s wrong?”

Angela shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just,” the doctor turned her head to face her companion, and Fareeha could see amusement flicker in her eyes. “Do you really still call him ‘uncle’? After all this time?”

“Always,” was her reply. “And besides, you call him that too. Except, in German.”

Angela’s smile twitched into a smirk, and she raised a thin brow. “I didn’t know you speak German.”

“Well, ‘uncle’ and ‘ _onkel_ ’—is that how you say it?— don’t exactly sound that different.”

A bell-like laugh escaped Angela’s lips, and Fareeha couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her own. “I suppose you have a fair point.”

_DING._

The elevator doors opened at the second floor, and a handful of people entered, forcing the two of them closer together. “Sorry,” Angela apologized quietly when her whole side pressed against Fareeha. Normally, the detective liked having her own space but she found that she didn’t really mind having Angela so close to her.

“It’s fine,” Fareeha whispered back, and the tips of her ears pinked at seeing Angela’s beatific smile up close.

_DING._

Fareeha and Angela got out of the elevator, walking side by side. “So what’s this case about anyway?”

“Missing persons. It’s possible that this man knows, or at least saw, something that could help.”

Angela looked at her, a confused expression flickering on her face. “But I thought you got promoted to Sergeant?”

“Who is spreading this around?” Fareeha muttered to herself, before sighing. “No, I’m still a detective. The chief says that I might be promoted soon though. But it’s probably best if I don’t expect too much. There’s a chance it won’t happen anyway.”

“Well, why not? You’ve solved a lot of cases lately. It’s all over the news,” Angela beamed at her. “Some newspapers are even calling you the best detective in the force.”

Fareeha chuckled. “Even if I do get that promotion, I’m not sure I would be the right person for it,” she admitted. It was always like this around Angela. It was so easy to admit her insecurities to her, to just tell her what’s wrong. Maybe it was that angelic aura around her, or maybe it was her soothing voice and gentle eyes. Fareeha wasn’t quite sure. Once, Morrison joked that Angela would’ve been a great shrink, and Fareeha found herself agreeing with him.

“Fareeha,” Angela said with disbelief in her voice, abruptly stopping. “Are you honestly doubting yourself? Because if you are, I could start listing reasons why they _should_ give you that promotion. You are the most loyal and honorable person I know,” she said, eyes boring into Fareeha’s, a slender hand on her shoulder. “You do everything you can to do your duty and to protect the innocent. _That_ is why you deserve that promotion _and more_.”

Fareeha fell silent at her words, struck speechless by the sincerity behind them. It took her a moment, but she managed to form a small smile. “Thank you, Angela,” she said. “That was very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome, Fareeha. I only speak the truth,” was her reply. Angela’s hand fell from her shoulder. “Now, don’t you have a witness to interrogate?” she asked, before walking again. Fareeha followed after her, feeling strangely giddy.

Suddenly, the Boy Scout’s Anthem sounded out, and Fareeha looked at Angela questioningly. The blonde pinked, and mumbled a small ‘excuse me’ as she took out her phone. “It’s Jack’s ringtone,” she explained hurriedly. “Lena—that friend I told you about?— messed with my phone and I haven’t gotten to fixing it yet— Hello? Jack? What’s the matter?” Her brow furrowed, before she sighed exasperatedly. “Alright, calm down. I’ll be there in a few— Jack,” she sighed again, rolling her eyes. “It will be fine. Gabriel’s not going to— Look, I’ll be there to help you in a while. Goodbye.”

Fareeha watched with amusement as Angela ended the call, muttering underneath her breath. “Personal crisis?”

“Trouble in paradise,” she replied, before giving Fareeha an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I really want to stay and catch up but Jack was really freaking out and—”

“I heard,” Fareeha cut in, smiling. “It’s fine. You do whatever you need to do.”

“Alright. I better go now before he starts calling again. I’ll see you around then," Angela replied, about to turn around and head back towards the elevator before she stopped and faced Fareeha. “Oh! How about we grab some coffee this Saturday if you’re available?” she asked.

“I, um,” Fareeha started, dumbfounded, before clearing her throat. “That sounds wonderful.”

“ _Gut!_ ” Angela beamed. “It’s a date then. I’ll text you later. _Tschüss!_ ” And with that, she left.

_It’s a date then_. Her mind raced, Angela’s words echoing in her head again and again. Fareeha stood there for a long moment, before gathering her wits and taking a deep breath. She could freak out about this later. Right now, she had a job to do. She turned around, continuing in her journey to find room… room… _khara_.

* * *

 

An hour later, Fareeha found herself back at the bar, her head in her hands. As it turns out, Rick Fletcher ( _who was in room 312_ ) was Fred Coleman’s estranged _uncle_ , and he knew exactly where Fred was. He wasn’t kidnapped or killed or something as dire as that. He _ran away_. With his _girlfriend_. To _elope_. And his uncle gave them a ride to the _airport_ that night. And said uncle didn’t say anything because _apparently_ , he didn’t think it was his place to do so.

“Well,” Reinhardt said, “at least the boy’s not dead. _Und_ ,” he tossed her a teasing grin, waggling his eyebrows, “you got a date with _Angela_.”

“Uncle,” she groaned. Reinhardt let out a hearty laugh.

“It took you long enough! Ah, but it wasn’t even you who asked, was it?”

“Uncle, please—”

“I guess it doesn’t matter who asked, but still, for it to take this long. Wait until Jack hears about this—”

“Uncle!” she said, mortified at the thought. The last time Jack heard she was dating someone, he had taken it upon themselves to see if that person was worthy of her through endless grilling and interrogation and passive-aggressive threats. Granted, Jack and Angela were close friends so that probably won’t happen here, _but still_. Sometimes, Jack was worse than her own mother.

“Well,” Reinhardt scratched his beard. “There’s a chance Angela already told him, anyway.”

“Told who what now?” a smooth baritone drawled out. Fareeha lifted her head from her hands, before groaning and putting it back when she saw McCree taking the seat next to her.

“Jesse! Good to see you, my friend,” Reinhardt bellowed in greeting, and McCree tipped his hat in return

“I’ll have some whiskey, if you don’t mind. So,” McCree glanced at Fareeha, “what’s her problem?”

Reinhardt’s grin grew wider. “She’s got a date!”

McCree’s eyebrows rose up. “Really now? Don’t tell me she gave up on the good doctor.” Fareeha stiffened at the mention of Angela, but tried to play it off. She peered at McCree, and saw the wolfish grin on his face. Damn that man and his eyes.

“Well, butter my backside and call me a biscuit,” he drawled out, and Fareeha could tell that he was just a few moments away from laughing out loud. “You’re goin’ on a date with Angela, aren’t ya? Wait ‘til Reyes hears ‘bout this.”

“Oh, wait until _Jack_ hears about this.”

Sometimes, Fareeha really regrets being friends with these people.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am never writing anything this long again because 5k words, wow. This took way too long to write. Anyway, I hope you liked this thing. Pharah is becoming one of my favorite characters to write but sometimes, I feel like I'm not doing her any justice ~~rains from above hahaha~~. Also, any grammatical mistakes are mine because I really need to sleep right now so I'm just posting this without rereading it and checking for errors so yeah.
> 
> Also, character's ages are intentionally vague because I cannot decide if Jack and Gabriel are pre-fall of Overwatch or not. Anyway, thanks for reading :)
> 
> EDIT: Thank you so much to [Cryrael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryrael/pseuds/Cryrael) for helping smooth out the German bits :)


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